


Freestyle

by mungtheinept



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Soccer, also cute soccer uniforms, asshole aus from tumblr inspired this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:25:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mungtheinept/pseuds/mungtheinept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder what would happen if Jean and Marco played intramural college soccer against each other and also probably fell in love with each other in the process? Yeah, I wondered, and I liked, so I wrote. Also, I took inspiration from some post floating around on tumblr about "asshole AUs" too bc it always makes me think of Jean. Just a cliche college AU I found in my writing folder that I decided I wanted to throw onto ao3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marco

**Author's Note:**

> Marco bumps into an asshole at work and joins a soccer team.

I was finally adjusting.

I had been in the city of Maria—where my mother lived—for almost a year when my story begins. I hate to start out right when I was in the middle of a transitional period, but it was an important time for me.

I was going through my second semester as a freshman at Maria University, and I was finally managing to get the hang of the whole “college” ordeal. My roommate and I were getting along, I was overjoyed about how often I got to visit my mom, and, sure, I may have been scrambling for money from time to time, but I was making it work. I was becoming independent.

Despite all of this, I still didn’t have direction. I was functioning efficiently, but I had no purpose. I was undeclared, and could never seem to decide on what major—and, ultimately, career path—was best for me. Every time I thought I made a decision, doubt crept into my mind and unraveled all of the careful thinking I had done before.

One desire remained constant throughout all of my thinking, though: I wanted to help people. I had been juggling around the idea of becoming a doctor for a while, but my father shot the idea down early in high school and I had been reluctant to consider it ever since.

So, I found myself stuck in a sort of purgatory. I worked a job at a bustling organic grocery store in a wealthy district near campus, where I saw all sorts of swanky people come in and out. Actually, that’s where I first took notice of Jean. I remember the day clearly because it was pretty early in the semester, and spring was only just beginning.

 

-

 

“ _Marco!_ Forecast says there’ll be a storm tonight! Why haven’t you taken care of the carts?”

“S-sorry, Keith!”

I quickly obliged my demanding manager’s barked-out request, scrambling to finish up restocking the organic oats and honey cereal so I could hurry outside. Mina, busy with customers at her register, spared a glance my way and stifled a giggle at me getting yelled at. I ran outside and gathered up all the carts, which I had been neglecting almost all day. I should have noticed the weather preparing for a storm and prioritized the carts, but strangely, there wasn’t much of a sign of an impending storm besides the forecast itself. Springtime storms in Maria were common and often happened without warning, though, so I was hardly surprised. The blue skies and still air that I enjoyed today would doubtfully last. Not that I was complaining—I loved storms. Whatever happened before a storm could easily be washed away in the rain and wind, like magic, almost.

Soon enough, the weather began to change. The sky darkened and massive, low-floating clouds made their slow procession across the sky. The air, humid and alive, swirled through the parking lot, carrying discarded pieces of trash and the occasional thick droplet of rain along with it. Less customers came in as the storm built, and I found myself finally relaxing, joking around with my co-workers as they idled at the cash registers.

Mina was in the middle of a staring contest with the clock on her register when she finally slumped onto the counter and groaned, her black hair forming a tangled curtain around the sides of her face. “My shift doesn’t end for another _three hours_ , Marco. I’m never going to make it.”

I chuckled at her overdramatic complaints, but sympathized with Mina. Although my shift ended in only an hour, I was exhausted. Saturdays were always busy, but that particular Saturday was a nightmare because of all of the game day party traffic—the Maria Titans basketball team was playing against a rival town. So, while all of my friends went to the game and ate gross hot dogs and painted their faces and screamed into the camera as it panned across the student section, I was stuck working one of the busiest shifts of the season.

“I heard Bert played really well today,” I offered, leaning against the low wall of the register station adjacent to Mina’s. “Annie said he was scoring all over the place.”

Mina had her head buried in her arms, and didn’t bother looking up to speak, simply talking into the counter. I thought her muffled reply was something like, “Duh, he towers over everybody.”

Grinning, I grabbed a few pieces of candy from the bowl set on the counter for kids to grab, and tossed one at Mina’s head. She whined, but still didn’t stir. I tossed another piece, this time managing to make it through a gap between Mina’s arm and head, successfully landing it underneath her face. I laughed out loud at this and she finally looked up, biting back a mischievous smile. A game ensued, the two of us throwing candy back and forth and laughing easily. Mina kept trying to land a piece in my apron pocket, but I was determined to make it difficult for her by moving away at the last second. Finally, we grew bored of the game and bent over to pick up the candy, lest we suffer the wrath of our manager.

As we did so, Annie swept by with a broom and pan in hand, keeping her eyes directly in front of her, disregarding all other human contact, as per usual. The fluorescent lights flickered over the small blonde girl, and I noticed she looked quite frightening even wearing an apron and holding a broom. Her facial expression was severe as usual, blue eyes boring holes into whatever she was currently looking at. Distant thunder gently rumbled. Mina huffed. “She never says hi to me. I always eat with her, though.”

“Don’t expect her to greet you every single time you’re in the same vicinity,” I chided gently, and Mina mumbled in deference. “It’s getting better. She talks to us way more than she used to now that we eat lunch with Reiner and Bert.”

“How does she get away with wearing that hoodie under her apron, though? If I tried that shit, Keith would have my ass for some ‘uniform violation’ or something,” Mina said, dumping the candy she’d collected back into the bowl on the counter. She turned around to go back around the other side of the register, but misjudged how much room she had with me crammed in the lane with her and bumped into the candy and gum display, spilling some boxes out. She swore quietly and bent over to pick them up as the bells on the entrance rang and a figure ran in, dripping from the rain. 

I groaned internally as I recognized the strange haircut. I had thought—hoped—I was safe for today.

The guy was around the same age as me, and always came in during my shifts. For as often as this asshole came in, he seemed to never ever know what he was doing or what he was supposed to buy. I could tell he went to Maria with me even though I never saw him around campus, since he sometimes wore clothes with the university logo on them. I could also tell that he probably lived at home with rich parents supporting him, seeing as how he only bought food that a.) he couldn’t even identify without asking someone what it was, and, b.) any regular student would’t be able to afford on a daily basis.

The fact that this person was a privileged rich kid wasn’t what ruffled my feathers, though. It was the fact that every single timethis guy came in— _every single time_ —he picked up some lettuce from the display in the front, and then, halfway through shopping, he decided he didn’t want it and set it down on the nearest _unrefrigerated_ shelf. I wanted to grab his face and scream, “ _Lettuce is perishable!_ How could you be so goddamned stupid?!” but I never did.

“Mina,” I murmured as she continued collecting up the candy she’d spilled. “That guy, you see that guy?”

She finished and stood up, peering over the display. “Yeah. Yeah, I see him.”

“Every time he shows up here, he picks up a single head of lettuce and it ends up on some shelf somewhere. Discarded.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him before,” Mina said in a low voice, watching him browse around cluelessly, squinting at a piece of paper—presumably a list some parent had sent him off with. “I think he goes to our school. What an asshole. He’s kinda hot.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, shoving at her shoulder playfully as she giggled, mostly at herself. A customer hovered near Mina’s station, seemingly wanting to check out, so I scooted away from Mina’s register and let her do her job, smiling back at her as she put on her cheery customer persona. I had a cheery customer persona, too, but Mina’s cheery customer persona really wasn’t that different from her usual demeanor. Mina was a pleasant person in general, and I liked that about her. We got along so easily, and I found that she had quickly become one of his best friends over the course of the past year.

Through the windows in the front of the store, I could see it was dark, the clouds casting a greenish color over the parking lot. The rain was just about to start, and every once and a while distant clouds lit up with lightning hundreds of miles away.

I walked through the aisles, not really paying attention to whether I needed to restock anything since my shift was almost over, but reflecting on how unexpectedly I had become friends with Mina and even Annie, who seemed to like us in her own way. Maybe this throw-away job wouldn’t make my resume stand out to future employers, like my dad took it upon himself to constantly point out, but I really did value the friendships I had made.

As I walked through the chips and popcorn aisle, distracted and pensive, I bumped into a customer, who seemed to be paying about as much attention as I was. I turned around to apologize, but the customer was already continuing on his way. I was about to shrug it off and turn back around, but something made me glance back. That damn haircut. It was an undercut with two tones—a darker brown on the lower, shaven layer and a lighter, ashy color on the top layer, which was shaggy and lazily styled. It started to rain—I could hear the light droplets patter against the roof of the store. Vaguely annoyed, I continued on my way, when I saw it. The lettuce. The head of lettuce, sitting on a shelf in the chips and popcorn aisle. 

Who does this? Who puts a vegetable down in the chips and popcorn aisle? What the _hell_!? I grabbed the lettuce and swiveled around, sharply shouting, “ _Hey!_ ” 

But the only other person left in the aisle was some little old lady who gasped in surprise at my shout, clutching at her heart. “W-what?!”

Intensely ashamed and embarrassed, I scrambled up to her, apologizing, trying to explain there was someone else in the aisle, gesturing wildly with the lettuce as she assured me over and over that it was fine, and she went on her way. I cringed at myself as she left the aisle, staring resentfully at the lettuce in my hands _._

What was it that Mina had just said about him?

_“He’s kinda hot.”_

A loud clap of thunder sounded suddenly, making me jump and forget myself for a moment. Kinda hot. The muffled sound of rain on the rooftop increased to an aggressive, sharp downpour while the fluorescent lights flickered ever so slightly.

Kinda hot. Huh. I guess I never really noticed before she pointed it out.

 

_-_

 

Instead of returning home to my dorm room, I dropped by my mother’s house. I usually liked to visit her on the weekends, if possible. Sometimes, I had plans, and other times, I was too busy with work or homework, so it didn’t happen every single week. She was always grateful to see me, smiling warmly at me and beckoning me in. 

I loved her home. It was small, but sturdy—she was good with her hands, so she worked on improving the house in her free time. She had a vegetable garden out behind the house filled with tomatoes and lettuce and peas, which she would enlist my help in planting this spring, no doubt. She planted flowers and bushes and saplings all around the house, keeping the grass clipped and tidy but letting the plants grow wild, only clipping and adjusting when it would benefit the plant’s health. Inside the house, too, she had potted plants all over—ferns, flowers, ivy—and she almost always had the windows propped open so that a gentle breeze wafted through the house at all times, resulting in an exhilarating, fresh sensation in the air.

And that’s not to mention the smell of Mom’s _cooking_. She never ate out or got takeout, always preferring to whip up something from the pantry. And, man, was she inventive; even with the most meager ingredients, she could create delicious meals that left pleasant, lingering scents in her home. 

Mom had a lot of free time on her hands. In addition to the gardening, cooking, and general home improvement, she had a massive collection of books: her walls were lined with bookcases, each book filled with sticky notes and bookmarks, and even the occasional scribble in the margins. She painted, and sketched, too, with every surface of the house cluttered with piles of old drawings and framed paintings she never bothered to put up or give away. She wasn’t great, but her paintings had a sort of cute charm, and they made her happy, so I appreciated them.

She couldn’t hold a job very well. That’s why she had so much free time. My mom doesn’t really…talk. I don’t know. I’ve never really known. I guess there’s a word for it—mutism. Selective mutism. She didn’t have enough money to get professional help, and refused to accept anything from my father, so she learned to scrape by without a reliable job in her tiny house, struggling to pay her bills. Currently, she had a job as an editor. It was difficult for her to find clients, though, because she only communicated by email. She also had a part time job as a floral arranger at a local florist—she had snagged that one as a personal favor from the owner’s wife.

“It’s me!” I called as I walked through the front door, taking off my wet shoes and throwing my bag onto the ground. Mom’s dog, a basset hound named Fefa, trotted up to me, wiggling her tail happily. I bent down to cradle Fefa’s drooping snout in my hands as she tried to lick my face through my hands. Laughing, I scratched her ears and cooed at her, making her tail wag even harder. Her name was sort of dumb, but she wasn’t technically even my mother’s dog. Mom knew some lady who allowed her kids to get a puppy on the condition that they care for it completely, and, guess what—they named the dog a stupid name and couldn’t take care of the puppy for more than a few months. So Mom agreed to take care of the dog until the kids “matured enough to handle the responsibility of a pet.” It’s been years.

Mom was lounging on the couch under a blanket, watching the weather channel, probably keeping an eye on the radar to see the progress of the storm. She looked back from the living room to the front door where I stood, smiling, her huge, brown eyes warm underneath her thick, dark eyebrows, and held out her hand. I smiled back, walking into the living room to grab her hand. She turned back around to watch the television, keeping hold of my hand.

“Looks like storm season has officially begun,” I remarked mildly. She rubbed my hand with her thumb in response.

These small gestures are probably strange for outsiders, but for someone who can’t talk, they are an essential form of communication. They are reassurances of love and warmth. They are bonding between mother and son when the two can’t hold a conversation by conventional means.

I walked around the couch and plopped down next to her, weary from a long day at work. Briefly, I wondered how Mina and Annie were faring—the storm seemed to have reached its climax already, so late-night customers would doubtless be trickling in. 

Mom tapped me on the foot with hers and I looked up at her—she was signing out a question, her eyebrows raised. _How is school? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks._

“Good,” I said, signing along with my words, out of habit. “My gen ed classes are interesting, but I still can’t see myself doing anything I’m learning for the rest of my life. I have no idea what I want to major in.”

A crease appeared between her heavy eyebrows, and she looked into her lap, as if she was thinking. Then she looked back up at me from across the couch and smiled, signing out, _You are like me. I could never decide either. I still can’t decide. Look at all my unfinished projects._ When she finished, she swept her hand out across the floor at a pile of half-filled sketchbooks and journals.

I returned her smile, pleased and comforted at the comparison, and we continued watching the weather channel in silence, listening only to the thrum of rain against the roof and windows and the low yammering of meteorologists on the television. Sometimes we heard a distant rumble of thunder, but the storm had all but passed, so they were less and less frequent as time went on.

Finally, I ventured a question that had been on my lips all night. “You said you scheduled an interview a few weeks ago. How did that go?”

I turned to watch her, and she was still looking at the television, frowning. My heart sank at her hesitation to answer—even if she didn’t tell me, I knew she was having more trouble with her bills than usual and that she was slightly desperate to find decent work.

Finally, she looked at me and moved her hand up to her lips, then brought it down and away from her face, palm facing downward. The sign for “bad.”

“What happened?” I asked quietly, worry involuntarily filling my voice. I knew it stressed her out to see me worry about her, but I couldn’t help it.

She grimaced, as if the memory was embarrassing. She began waving her hands around gently, almost bashfully. _I didn’t tell them beforehand that I couldn’t speak. I thought I was ready to try. I was not._

I sighed, but I didn’t ask her why she thought that a job interview would be the ideal place to try to speak again. I never questioned her about strange things she did like that anymore, because she always closed off from me if I did. Perhaps she was embarrassed, or maybe she just had her own weird ways to cope and recover. I don’t know.

I also didn’t ask why it was so hard for my mother to find work. I already knew the answer to that.

Instead, I said, “I’m sure something above minimum wage will turn up eventually. I’ll keep my eye out, Mom. I love you.”

She smiled gratefully and I got up to rummage around in the kitchen, hoping to find some sort of delicious dessert left over in the fridge. To my disappointment, I didn’t. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it wasn’t too late to bake something, so I called out to my mom, hoping she’d be in the mood to help me.

Sure enough, she joined me in the kitchen and sifted through her ingredients, trying to find enough to be able to throw something together. We decided on brownies, and spent the rest of the night baking happily, content with each others’ company.

 

-

 

Sunday passed without incident. Mostly, I was cooped up inside Mom’s guest room doing homework, and it was still raining lightly outside. Mom was in and out, doing various chores around the house and playing with Fefa.

When Monday rolled around, the weather finally cleared up. After getting up early to go for a jog in the still damp dawn around Mom’s neighborhood, Mom fed me breakfast and I got ready to leave. My first class was Sociology—I took it to fulfill a humanities requirement—and it was at nine. So, I kissed my mom, grabbed my jacket and backpack, and drove back to campus with a cup of coffee in hand, yawning. I had to stay up late Sunday night because I was still writing a paper that was due today.

Once I settled into my seat in Sociology, I began to take out my notes. That’s when I saw _him_. Lettuce boy. I’d recognize him anywhere—he’s the kind of person who you could recognize a mile away, what with his haircut and his all-black-yet-somehow-trendy clothes, so I was puzzled at how I could have missed him being in this class before today.

He came in, backpack hanging off one shoulder, looking tired as hell, and slumped down into a seat across the room from me. Amused, I whipped out my phone and sent a quick text.

 

To Mina:

lettuce boy’s in my sociology class…

 

Mina also had a class at nine, so it was only a few short moments before I received a reply:

 

From Mina:

OMG. get in a group project w him and SABOTAGE his grades so he’ll never misplace a head of lettuce again lol :~)

 

I smiled at my phone and was about to reply, but the professor was already beginning class. My thoughts about lettuce boy didn’t last very long, though, and I spent the rest of the class diligently jotting down notes about Karl Marx.

The class lasted three hours, because I only had it once a week, so once I got out, I had to hurry to the dining hall to get the last of the leftover breakfast sandwiches. They were my favorite, and if I would just get out a little earlier, it wouldn’t be a problem, but they stop making them at eleven so by noon they’re running out. I got to the bustling dining hall just in the knick of time today, managing to scoop up the very last sandwich—I usually got the last one, if not, the second to last—and I thanked the lady behind the counter before searching around for my usual lunch buddies. It was easy enough to spot them—Reiner was an enormous, bullish blonde with a booming laugh, Bert was taller than any person I’d ever met, probably, and Annie’s mere _presence_ just sort of demanded attention. 

They waved at me when I spotted them and I waved back, smiling and walking over to join them. Mina, Christa, and Ymir were also sitting with us today, I saw, and I greeted them cheerfully as I sat my tray down, sitting between Mina and Christa.

“Marco!” Reiner barked at me. “Soccer! Intramural soccer! We need you.”

“Intramural soccer?” I repeated.

Mina nodded excitedly. “Reiner says he’s getting a team together! Bert can’t play, since he’s busy with basketball, but so far, it’s me, Reiner, Ymir, Annie, and Christa! I’ve also got a friend Connie who I recruited to join—we went to the same high school and both played soccer—so if you played too, we’d be unstoppable!”

I considered it for a moment while my potential teammates stared at me with bated breath. I did love soccer, but I also didn’t have that much time on my hands, and—

“ _And_ if you joined, we’d have seven players, which is the maximum number of players to have,” Christa urged, shaking my arm, her hopeful face beaming radiantly up at me.

Nobody said anything as they watched me decide, and I felt the pressure of five sets of eyes boring into me, on the edge of their seats—

“Fine, fine,” I decided finally, smiling as they all erupted into cheers.

“Hell yeah!” Ymir said, her mouth full of french fries. “Mina was just telling us how good you are with a soccer ball!”

“Mina!” I whined in mock irritation. “They have _expectations_ now.”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, hitting me on the arm. “We’re going to be so good!”

“We’re gonna _dominate_!” Ymir cackled. “We have Annie _and_ Reiner! Like, what the fuck!”

I laughed along with them, listening to Reiner yammer on about plays and techniques and training regimens, and Mina argue with him about how he’s never even officially played soccer, and Ymir laughing at the fact that Reiner thought it was spelled “intermural”, and I felt so incredibly happy. I spent most of my first semester without many friends—I had Mina, but we weren’t as close then—so this semester was a welcome change from the loneliness. For the first time in a great while, I felt like I belonged.

 

 

 


	2. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a victim of sandwich theft and joins a soccer team.

No. No, no, no, no, _no._

Not _again._

 _This can’t be_ , I thought urgently, as I sprinted through the halls. _Not fucking_ again. _I swore I wouldn’t fall asleep today. Fuck!_

I barreled through the busy hallways, people hardly moving out of my way in time for me to blast past them. I think I even accidentally shoved a guy aside and into a wall in my haste, and I was vaguely aware of him yelling, “Jean?!” angrily, but I was nearly deaf and blind with hunger and rage, so I left him in the dust.

My destination was the dining hall. Monday was the day they served my favorite breakfast sandwich, and oh, God, it was good. A freshly toasted English muffin with fried-to-order egg, bacon, cheddar cheese, and, oh, shit, _spicy mustard_.

It was so good. It was so, so good. And I was about to lose it. _Again._

“No!” I yelled, now outside and running down the sidewalk. People turned to look, but I didn’t care. My primal instincts commanded my every thought, my every movement. I couldn’t think of anything else besides that damned sandwich.

I busted into the dining hall, running up to the breakfast counter, stopping to catch my breath to see, holy shit, just in time, the sandwich was just sittingthere on the counter—

I breathed heavily, approaching it ever so carefully, when, all of the sudden, out of no where, _he_ popped up beside the counter, grabbing the sandwich up. He slid it on his tray like it was nothing, smiling—how dare he smile?!—at the lady at the counter, then walking to his table of friends, who greeted him jovially. I stood with my mouth agape, staring at what could have been. I’m not sure how long I stood in the middle of the dining hall like a moron staring at this guy eat my sandwich, but I finally snapped back to my senses after a few minutes of observing him.

I always fell asleep in Sociology, and nobody ever bothered to fucking wake me up after class ended, and this piece of shit freckled kid _always_ got to the dining hall thirty seconds before me to snatch up my sandwich. Ever since the new semester started, I’ve been deprived of my Monday sandwich—what is that, four weeks of sandwich deprivation? Five?! Shit.

Finally, I sighed in resignation, grabbing a shitty idiot burger instead of my precious sandwich, and scanned the crowd for friends to sit next to. I spotted Armin’s bright blonde haircut soon enough, and went over to sit next to him, vaguely pissed off. Mikasa, Sasha, and Connie were all sitting next to him, and Sasha lit up when she saw me.

“Jeannyyyy!” she gushed. Her tray had three separate meals on it, squashed together impossibly in a space meant for just one. “You’re looking chipper today!”

I made a noncommittal sound and began to tear into my stupid burger, scowling.

“Hey, Jean,” Connie piped up, both he and Sasha unfazed by my attempt at acting unapproachable, “guess what Sash and I did yesterday!”

I didn’t answer, and just focusing on my burger. Connie seemed to deflate a bit at that, so Armin offered, “What did you two do, Connie?”

Bouncing right back, Connie began to enthusiastically recount tales of their drunken adventures in the local park, and soon enough, Sasha joined in. While Connie and Sasha chatted animatedly to Armin, Mikasa ignored me, as usual, so I ate in brooding silence. Don’t get me wrong, I love Sash and Con—painfully so. But I hate Mondays, and I wasn’t in the mood for their stories that day, especially after the sandwich incident.

“Hey,” interjected Armin, probably grasping at some way to get them to settle down, “There’s Eren!”

We all turned to look at Eren, who was walking towards us, rather, um, briskly, and had a strangely intense facial expression on his face. What the fuck was he doing?

“Kirschtein!”

The fuck?

“The fuck do you want, Jaeger?” 

“What the hell are you doing, pushing people around in the hallways, asshole?” he said, grabbing my collar and shaking it angrily.

“Get off me!” I said, forcing his filthy hands off of my shirt. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh no, we’re not doing this,” Sasha whimpered, dropping her head to the table in embarrassment. I guess I failed to trouble myself over the fact that everyone in the dining hall had quieted down to listen to us, and neither did Jaeger, apparently, so he continued on.

“I _asked_ you what the fuck was so important that you had to plow me into a wall,” Eren yelled, eyes burning and color rising in his face. I began to stand up to his level to respond when Mikasa rose and pushed us apart from each other.

“Eren. Don’t you have something to ask Jean?” she asked calmly. “About soccer?”

Eren looked at Mikasa, shocked, as if he were just noticing her for the first time. He calmed down almost immediately, seeming to be slightly embarrassed by his outburst. “Oh…yeah.”

I rolled my eyes, used to Eren’s overly aggressive behavior by now. I suddenly remembered my rampage down the hallways, pushing that guy into the wall without even a second glance—that must have been Eren. Oops. Eren and I go way back—we went to high school together, and we were always getting in fights. After years of constant fighting, we could go from zero to a hundred and back again in a matter of seconds, not really even involving personal feelings in our arguments anymore. We just fought for the sake of fighting, at this point. So, quieter, I asked, “What the fuck do you want?”

“First of all,” Eren began hotly, “Don’t fucking push me around. It pisses me off.”

I said nothing, just sat down and focused back on my burger. Thankfully, the rest of the dining hall seemed to have returned to chatting amicably.

Eren sighed, walking around to sit down across from me—the seat next to Mikasa. “I need you for a soccer team, man.”

Connie perked up. “Soccer team? Like, intramural? I’m doing that!”

“What?” Eren cried, devastated. “I wanted you on my team, Con!”

Connie shrugged. “Sorry, dude. I already agreed to be on my friend Mina’s team.”

“I’ll be on your team, Eren!” Sasha chirped suddenly, which earned a shocked, betrayed look from Connie. She glanced at him. “What? I wanna play soccer!”

“Sash…we can’t compete _against_ each other!” whined Connie.

“Sure we can! It will be fun!” Sasha laughed, punching him in the shoulder. I think it was supposed to be a good-natured punch, but it looked like it actually hurt. “Friendly competition, Con!”

While Connie and Sasha began to smack talk each other, Eren looked at me expectantly. “Can I count on you? Now that Sasha’s in, I’ve got me, Ar, Mikasa, and Sasha. We really only need four, but I want to have the maximum number of players—that’s seven.”

I considered it for a second. Any team with Mikasa on it would fucking own. “I’m in.”

“Yes! Now we just need two more by the end of today to make seven,” Eren beamed. He seemed really excited.

“Wait—the end of today?” I asked, confused.

Armin rolled his eyes. “The application is due by the end of today. Eren only just decided he wanted to make this team yesterday. Most of the other teams have already started practicing—some even have games this Sunday.”

“Yeah,” Eren chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So do you have any ideas for two people who could kick ass in soccer that you could recruit by the end of the day? Hell, they don’t even have to kick ass, because I’m kind of out of ideas.”

I gaped at him, astounded at his lack of planning. “You’re an idiot. I’ll see if I can find someone.”

 

-

 

The next class I had that day was Biology. I actually really enjoyed Bio, because it was pretty interesting—but only because the professor was kind of insane, not because of the subject matter. She was a zoologist, and she was _really_ into science and animals. Also, I had Connie in that class, and he was always entertaining, whether he meant to be or not. That day, he was fast asleep while Hanji—the professor told us to address her by her first name—lectured to us about unicellular organisms or some shit. His head hung back, his mouth gaping open. A bit of dry drool was crusted to the edge of his mouth. I glanced around, noticing some people taking notes, while others were fast asleep just like Connie. Bored, I began crumpling up small pieces of paper ripped from my notebook to see if I could land one in his mouth. The first few were completely off, landing far away from his desk, but once I got used to the distance, I could almost make it—one landed just barely on the side of his mouth but fell off to the ground. At this, he snorted and smacked his lips noisily, finally closing his mouth and resting his head on his desk. It was a damn wonder that Hanji didn’t notice, because he certainly wasn’t discreet about the whole ordeal. 

Now that my diversion was gone, I had nothing to do but stare at the clock. Forty five minutes left. There was no second hand on Hanji’s clock, and the minute hand seemed to be moving impossibly slow. Desperate for something to distract me from the monotony of the class, I wracked my brain over who I could ask to join our soccer team. 

Let’s see…there was…shit.

I didn’t have many friends besides the ones I had just eaten lunch with. I guess I had some people that I could classify as “friends,” but I didn’t really _like_ them. The only kinda-sorta friend I could think of was this one girl I met at some stupid party last semester—she gave me and Connie weed and her number just in case we wanted more. I guess the only reason I thought of her is because she once told me she could run really fast because she spent so much time running from the cops.

After scrolling through my contacts one more time, I decided reluctantly to send her a text.

 

To: Hitch

u didnt get kicked out of mu yet right 

 

From: Hitch

HELLZ naw beeeetch. Need some weed or osmething lol

 

To: Hitch

no. are u any good at like……..sports 

 

From: Hitch

wtf? yeah sure I was a simmer in HS

 

I was annoyed at her constant disregard for typo fixing, but I pressed on anyway. I didn’t want to let the only good friends I had down, no matter how much I tried to put up a front that I didn’t really care.

 

To: Hitch

well my friend eren is trying to make an intramural soccer team and the application is due today. he needs 2 more players.

 

From: Hitch

are you asking me to be on a socca team witchu >;)

 

I rolled my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t try to hit on anyone on the team. _There’s still time to back out of this. Do I really want Hitch on our soccer team?_

Then I thought about how excited Eren was, and how Sasha smack talked Connie with such _conviction._

 

To: Hitch

yeah. pls dont be an idiot in front of my friends

 

From: Hitch

ugh jeannnnn. i wont okay! my bf can play too if u need 1 more playa

 

I was about to type out a thanks when all of the sudden Hanji raised her voice at the front of the room, making me jump.

“And _that,”_ she yiped sharply, “is how I got shot in the leg by poachers in South Africa!”

She would do this sometimes. She would get really enthusiastic about something and wouldn’t be able to control her voice, suddenly going from impossibly quiet to a yelping shriek. I don’t think she even cared if anyone was listening. When she raised her voice like this, though, students certainly snapped back to reality if they were zoning out.

Connie made a disgusting slurping sound as he choked on his own spit, lurching up from his desk and looking around the classroom in shock. He blinked several times and caught my eye. I raised my eyebrows at him. He grinned and gave me a thumbs up, turning back to his notes to presumably pay attention for the rest of the class.

Once class ended, I gathered up my books and stuffed them into my backpack, turning to walk away with Connie, who was preoccupied talking to…wait. What the fuck?

Sandwich guy? The guy with the freckles that always steals my sandwich?! I’d never noticed that he was even in this class—how could I miss him? He was really…his appearance was really unique, I guess. His skin was darkly tanned, but his freckles were so prominent, and he had these enormous brown eyes—

Why was Connie talking to him?

“Hey, Jean-boy! This is Marco,” Connie said, wrapping his arm around me and thumping my chest. “He’s gonna be on my soccer team. I only just met him too--Mina told me about him.”

Marco looked just as surprised to see me as I did to see him, which was strange, because I didn’t think he even knew who I was.

“Yeah, I know this guy,” I said, glaring at him purposefully. Connie quirked an eyebrow, turning from me to look at Marco expectantly.

“H-how?” Marco asked, taken aback. His eyes, which were wide in shock, were strikingly captivating. Even when he was obviously caught off-guard and embarrassed, he still made direct eye contact with me.

I _was_ going to tell this guy off for stealing my sandwich every Monday, but I thought better of it. Yelling at someone over food would probably make me look like a huge dumbass. So I just mumbled, “I’ve seen him around.”

I guess I seemed like a dumbass anyway, because he was gaping at me, and Connie looked kind of embarrassed to be my friend. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between us three, and I did nothing to fix it, staring at my feet and thinking about the fact that Marco had stolen my sandwich this morning.

“Soo…me and Marco are gonna go practice,” Connie said finally, painfully breaking the lapse in conversation. “You wanna come join us? We’re totally gonna scope out your moves so we can sabotage you once we play against you.”

I let out a sharp bark of laughter. “No way in hell am I letting the competition in on my secrets. Besides, I’m busy.”

Connie shrugged, letting out a “Whatever, man,” before throwing his arm around Marco and leading him out of the classroom, not sparing me a second glance. Marco, however, did look back at me. He seemed curious. Normally, I would have glared if I was in a good mood, or just stared at the ground and refused to meet his eyes, but I was curious too, so I returned his glance, forgetting to scowl. Once our eyes met, he smiled, and Connie pulled him out the door.

 

-

 

Public transit gets a lot of undeserved criticism.

I took the subway to and from my dad’s house since he needed the car for work. Room and board was really expensive at Maria U, so my dad made me live with him until we could find a cheap apartment near the university. I didn’t really mind since he was never at home and always had beer lying around, but I hated relying on him. I don’t have great relationships with anyone in my family.

The metal-on-metal screech of the wheels on tracks was deafening, but the atmosphere inside the car was subdued. People were quiet, minding their own business, and the air was warm and still. I liked it, the mutual relaxedness of the train. And I loved to observe people. College kids were interesting to observe when I first came to school, but I was pretty much used to everyone by second semester, so the subway was the perfect place for me to observe new people.

That day, I sat down to the right of a teenage girl slumped deep down in her chair, scrolling through her phone. She had long dreadlocks, probably reaching all the way down to her butt when she stood straight up, spilling out of her blue beanie. On the other side of me was a middle-aged woman, starkly contrasted to the girl to my left—she was sitting up perfectly straight, wearing a sleek gray suit and pantyhose. It wasn’t crowded enough that people had to stand that day, but seats were running out, so everyone was sitting in pretty close proximity. I know this is probably weird, but I liked it, because of the warmth. It’s not like it was cold that day—actually, the weather was amazing—but something about body warmth, even from strangers, comforts me.

I scanned the rest of the train slowly, taking in all of the people. An old man with white hair but dark black eyebrows, wrinkles carved deeply into his face. A girl holding a heart-shaped balloon in one hand and her mother’s hand in the other. A guy reading a Spider-Man comic book and chewing an ungodly amount of bubblegum, blowing bubbles until one popped all over his face.

Soon enough, the train arrived at my stop, and I hurried off, letting myself dissolve into the crowd. We all moved up the stairs like a school of fish, scattering up on the street corner. Some went into the ice cream shop on the corner, and some headed down farther into the city to shop. 

I headed directly into my dad’s neighborhood—it was full of old houses, some nicer than others. The neighborhood wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but _was_ in close proximity to more dangerous neighborhoods. Most of the residents were people who could afford to renovate the old houses into something nicer, but my dad wasn’t so fortunate. He bought his house with the help of my mom, but when they split he couldn’t afford to follow through and renovate as much as his other upper middle-class neighbors. He managed to fix it up as nicely as he could, but there were still creaky stair steps and drafts that I couldn’t locate. The landscaping, however, was a mess—Dad had no idea what to do with the yard, or the ivy crawling over the wrought-iron fence, or the grass poking out of the sidewalk.

Parked cars crowded the already narrow, uneven streets, and oak trees towered above the sidewalks and streets from people’s cramped yards and behind their fences. We lived in one of those ancient neighborhoods that had existed so long that the trees had grown so tall and thick that they created a sort of canopy above the streets. Enough sunlight filtered through the trees to get a sunburn, but not at this time of day. As I was walking, I walked in mostly shadows, which made it chilly. I stuffed my hands into my pockets.

My dad’s house was one of the smaller, more modest houses. I arrived at the front door and hopped up the steps, clumsily trying to unlock the door with my cold hands. The door swung open before I had a chance to unlock it, though, and I found myself face-to-face with my dad, who was wearing sweatpants and an old-as-hell, never-been-washed flannel hanging open to reveal a plain white t-shirt. I noticed he hadn’t shaved in a while, either. I frowned and shouldered past him through the doorway, and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry I haven’t been around lately,” he said awkwardly to my back as I kicked my shoes off.

“I don’t care,” I replied, escaping to my room without even glancing back at him.

So, yeah, my dad and I didn’t exactly vibe together. My mom and I didn’t get along either, but the only difference between the two was that she didn’t care about me, while my dad did. She was kind of a hotshot lawyer, and my dad was the owner of a local bar, so they were always an odd pair. I think she was embarrassed of him at professional events. She ended up sleeping with someone else, and there was a lot of arguing and screaming. My mom pretended to want custody of me when they divorced, mostly because of my grandma, but I could tell she didn’t actually want me that badly. She was a lawyer, and if she wanted me badly enough, she could have had me. My dad actually did want me to stay with him, though, so he fought hard to gain custody of me. My grandma on my mom’s side absolutely adored me, so she was the one that my dad _actually_ had to fight with, rather than my mom. Now, he kind of hates Grandma, but I still stay in contact with her regularly. I haven’t talked to my mom in almost a year, though.

I jumped onto my bed without hesitation, burying my face in my pillow. I was about to zone out and probably fall asleep when my phone vibrated. 

 

From: Eren

so did u thnk of anybody

 

I had almost forgotten about getting Hitch and her boyfriend joining the team. I quickly tapped out a reply.

 

To: Eren

yeah but she’s kinda insane and aggressive. and she said her boyfriend would join too

 

He must have been just staring at my message, because as soon as it sent, it said that he read it. In just a few short seconds, I received a text back.

 

From: Eren

dude prfect u gota b a little insanse 2 play w us! wut are their names + numbers so i can put them on the forms and shit

 

I quickly texted Hitch asking for her boyfriend’s name and number and confirming that he actually wanted to do it—she said his name was Marlo Freudenberg. After relaying the information to Eren, he replied something a bit strange.

 

From: Eren

marlo huh. weird name.

 

…Yeah? It was a weird name, I guess. He sent me a second text.

 

From: Eren

hha sounds like marco. (my roomie)

 

I blanched, gripping my phone in both of my hands and staring at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes. Surely, it couldn’t be…I mean, I guess I had never met Eren’s roommate, but how could this guy be popping up in my life so often?!

 

To: Eren

wait is that marco the one with the freckles marco. that marco

 

From: Eren

aha yeah he is rly cool actually. and rly cute ngl he has one o those prtty boy faces

 

I was gaping at my phone when he sent me another text.

 

From: Eren

not cuter than ar tho ;)

 

I disregarded the text, setting my phone on my bedside table amidst all of the other clutter without replying. Staring at the ceiling of my room, I wondered who the hell this Marco guy thought he was and why he decided to burst into my life so suddenly without even asking. My eyelids began drooping and my cheeks felt heavy—a sign I was about to drift off to sleep. Although I didn’t want to fall asleep thinking about some asshole I’d only just met, I welcomed the drowsiness and began to fade.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated harshly on my bedside table. I groaned, awakened by the sound. I rolled over and grabbed the phone to see another fucking text from Eren.

 

From: Eren

ok forms are in. team meeting tmrow at 3 so we can figure out our schdules

 

-

 

After sitting through this so-called “team meeting” of Eren’s, I deduced that it was going to be hard as _fuck_ to be on the same soccer team as him. Especially since he was the captain of the team.

We sat in the student lounge of Eren’s dorm building, which was just adjacent to the front entrance. I could see people walking in and out of the main doors while we painfully trying to match class schedules up with each other so we could find regular times to practice. The process was long and arduous since nobody except Armin was organized enough to actually have a list of times they could practice.

“We’re not going to talk about positions quite yet since we haven’t seen anyone play,” Armin said as Mikasa stole Sasha’s phone, holding it high above her head so she couldn’t reach it.

Hitch and Marlo surprisingly turned up right on time to the meeting, and they seemed like promising enough teammates. Hitch was weird, but what was even weirder was that she had a boyfriend like _Marlo Freudenberg._ Marlo was so…straight. Like, literally straight. His posture was phenomenal, as if he was a drill sergeant or something. He rarely smiled, so I was unsure if he actually wanted to be here. And he had this strange bowl cut that was probably the most perfectly bowl-shaped bowl cut I had ever encountered in my entire life. Marlo was the person I would least expect to end up dating Hitch. When she mentioned that she had a boyfriend, I pictured someone who did heavy drugs or had a monkey for a pet or some shit—not this guy.

I wasn’t complaining, though. He seemed to be able to tame her wilder side, which I was worried would conflict with my other friends’ strong personalities. And when I say “my other friends,” I mean _Eren_.

Sasha was whining about having explicit pictures in her phone and reaching for the item in question as Mikasa sat stoic and unrelenting as ever, holding the phone just away from her grasp. Sometimes, it was hard to believe she was just teasing Sasha—it almost looked like she was punishing her.

“Okay,” Hitch huffed, after checking through her schedule of classes once again. “Based on your schedules and the times you want, I can make Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays for practice.”

“It’s the same with me,” Marlo said, emotionless.

“Finally,” Eren said, slightly exasperated. “Does that work for everyone?”

A murmur of consensus sounded throughout the room, and Eren grinned. “Perfect!”

There was one last thing that was on my own _personal_ agenda for the meeting though, that I had been thinking through since Jaeger first suggested the whole soccer idea to me. Obviously, Mikasa was going to be a forward, and since we were playing with seven on a team, there was room for one more forward…

“Before we leave,” I said quickly, “I wanna be a forward. I call it.”

Eren scoffed loudly. “No _way_ , Kirschtein. I’m gonna be forward. I’m way more aggressive.”

“Wait, guys, I just said we weren’t going to talk about positions until we started playing!” Armin whined, distressed.

“What do you even know about soccer, Jaeger?” I questioned, jabbing a finger at him. I fucking knew this issue was going to surface sooner or later—I guess it ended up being much sooner than I anticipated.

“Who the fuck cares what I know? What matters is who has the best initiative,” Eren said.

“I have initiative!”

Mikasa pushed Sasha’s phone into Sasha’s desperate grasp, and stood up threateningly. Her shift in presence was enough to put both me and Eren on edge. “We’ll decide once we start practicing.”

I made a small noise of disapproval and crossed my arms, but didn’t say anything else. Mikasa was scary. Eren did the same thing, rolling his eyes. The small amount of tension that had formed in the room disappeared just as quickly as it developed.

“Th-thanks, Mikasa,” Armin said weakly.“Alright, bitches!” Hitch cried, raising her arms up in a questioning position. “Meeting adjourned?”

“ _Hitch_ ,” Marlo admonished quietly, slightly annoyed.

“Yeah, meeting adjourned,” Eren said, standing up. “Get some exercise and build up endurance. First practice is on Thursday.”

Eren, Armin, and Mikasa all gathered up their bags and left to go eat, but Sasha ran up to cling to my arm. Hitch and Marlo were walking away slowly, as if they didn’t have any pressing plans and wanted to just wander around before they left.

“Jeeee~an,” Sasha buzzed quietly to me, looking up at me with wide, mischievous eyes and a cheshire cat grin. She squeezed my arm excitedly. I glanced across the hallway to the main doors of the dormitory where people were passing through, wanting to leave.

“What do you want?” I asked suspiciously, scared of whatever she was planning. 

She wiggled her eyebrows at me, quirking them up and down and rolling them across her forehead—a trick I had never learned to master. “I have some intel. A _little bird_ told me—well, I beat it out of him—that some of our rival teammates are headed out for a little informal practice session.”

“Sasha, I’m not gonna spy on Connie’s team,” I said, trying to pull away from her grip. She held my arm tighter, preventing me from moving.

“Wait, wait! _Look!”_ she whispered, pointing to a figure approaching. “That’s Connie’s teammate! He lives here, and he’s practicing with Connie! D’you see him, Jean? Huh? Jean? The one with the freckles? Jean?”

Yeah, I saw him, alright. I was trying to keep from staring, actually. Marco. Practicing with Connie.

Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to see just how well he could play, after all.

“Okay,” I said, turning to Sasha and grinning. “Let’s go scope out the competition.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if this is at all something people are interested in. If people are into it I'll continue writing it.
> 
> ~your dear friend Mung :')


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